Insidious
by Belphegor
Summary: Just because someone is rumoured to have sticky fingers and cheats at poker more than it's healthy doesn't mean they're not likeable. Far from it.


**Author's note**: Goodness, it feels like ages since I last published something! I'm still playing around with one-word prompts (the WordReference site has a nice "random word generator" and I like this kind of exercise); this is a snippet that grew into a snapshot. It's set in the first months of Newkirk's and LeBeau's captivity in Stalag XIII.

_Disclaimer: Davies, Harper, Saunders and (unfortunately) Flight Sergeant Watkins (and the cover picture) are mine, but the rest belong to (I'm glad to say) Albert S. Ruddy and the late Bernard Fein's estate. Let's hope that if they indeed intend to make a _Hogan's Heroes_ feature film, they do it well! Otherwise, we'll always have fan fiction ;o)_

* * *

**Insidious**

"And I say my wallet is missing, and that dirty Cockney undoubtedly has something to do with it!"

"And _I_ say you probably lost it, so you'd better stop accusing people before I punch you in the nose, Watkins!" LeBeau retorted angrily. "Let him go!"

The burly Englishman turned up his nose and sneered, not releasing his grip on Newkirk's collar. "That's Flight Sergeant Watkins to you. And I take cheek from no-one, especially a half-pint Frog with an unfortunate taste in friends. Now, Corporal, I'm going to say this just once, and I expect an immediate answer. _Where_ is my wallet?"

Watkins roughly shook Newkirk, who let out a half-strangled profanity and drew back his leg for a kick that turned out to be pragmatic, if quite ungentlemanly. Watkins abandoned all pretence of decorum and tackled him to the ground. LeBeau squared his shoulders and dove right into the fight.

"You mean _this_ wallet, Watkins?"

LeBeau, Newkirk and Watkins froze, and raised their heads from the settling dust. Davies was standing three paces from them, flanked by Harper and Saunders (who managed to look nonchalantly threatening with his hands in his pockets and the too-innocent expression on his face), and casually holding the object of Watkins' ire.

Watkins scrambled up and snatched it out of the Welshman's hands, scowling. He inspected the contents suspiciously.

"Where did you find it?" he asked, dusting himself off with as much dignity as he could muster. Davies shrugged.

"Wasn't that hard. It must have slipped under your bunk."

"Next time you might want to check there first before you start throwing allegations of theft around, Flight Sergeant," Harper said quietly.

"Not to mention knocking other prisoners around behind the delousing shed," Saunders rumbled. If there was one thing the normally gentle Australian hated, it was bullies throwing their weight around. And LeBeau knew for a fact that, behind the sophisticated, polished exterior, Theodore Watkins was not above using his brawn rather than his brains to remind people who was in charge – namely him, despite Flight Sergeant Rutherford having seniority as POW officer.

Although Watkins was big enough to go toe-to-toe with Saunders, he was not stupid enough to try it.

"It's the only way some riff-raff will understand their place," he snapped, with a pointed look at LeBeau, Davies, and Newkirk, who was massaging his throat. LeBeau had never heard the word before, but there was no mistaking the open contempt in Watkins' voice. He straightened his beret on his head and clenched his fists, seething.

Davies scowled, and Newkirk's eyes blazed.

"Maybe you should try again, then, mate," he said fiercely. "Care to have another go?"

Watkins shrugged derisively. "You're not worth it. And I'm not your 'mate'."

"That's okay, we got lots of other words for you, me and me fists –"

"That's enough," Saunders interrupted. He stepped over, grabbed Watkins by his shirt front and dragged him into the open despite the man's heated protests. "Rack off," he said calmly.

Watkins drew himself up indignantly, ready to respond in kind, but spotted a couple of guards heading their way and immediately tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible. They still heard him mutter on the way about 'uppity Cockneys', 'bloody Frogs' and something about the Welsh being overly fond of their sheep, but it was doubtful that the Germans understood a word he was saying.

Newkirk straightened his jacket and shot a sharp look at Davies.

"Not that I'm ungrateful or anythin', but a month ago _you_ were calling me all sorts of names – even said I was insidious, which, er, wasn't very nice. What made you change your mind?"

Davies had the good grace to look slightly awkward, and then smirked. "That's my own business. But if you want my advice, I guess things would go easier for you if you stopped cheating at poker."

"Yeah, I know, but where's the fun in that?"

As they made their way back to the barracks, LeBeau didn't bother to hide his grin. He had a pretty good feeling why Davies, Saunders and Harper had intervened, despite professing not to like the Londoner very much. And it wasn't just because those three were essentially decent men with a dislike for injustice.

Peter Newkirk _was_ insidious – as in, he had a sneaky way of growing on people despite all odds.

LeBeau knew that from experience.

* * *

I like to think that they ended up gaslighting Watkins – sawing his bunk, putting stuff in his soup, and general unpleasantness – so much that the guy eventually asked for a transfer before Hogan turned up. Since I have a deep and seething hatred of bullies, in my stories they usually get their comeuppance ;o)

Hope you liked!


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